


Bare-Boned and Crazy

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-09
Updated: 2003-02-09
Packaged: 2019-05-15 11:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14789282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: "So he traps her against the counter, runs his hands down her arms, and starts singing along, softly, into the skin of her shoulder."





	Bare-Boned and Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Bare-Boned and Crazy**

**by:** Carrie  


**Characters:** Donna, Josh  
**Rating:** ADULT  
**Summary:** "So he traps her against the counter, runs his hands down her arms, and starts singing along, softly, into the skin of her shoulder."  
**Notes:** I *love* The Dave Matthews Band’s "Crash Into Me." I think it's one of the sexiest songs I've ever heard, and I've wanted to incorporate it into a fic for a while now, so here it is. I had Josh and Donna in mind, here, but I never use their names, so feel free to imagine others in this scenario...let me know if you do, and if it works for you in a way other than J/D.  It's like a WW/PWP Choose Your Own Adventure!   


* * *

She stands at the stove, dreamily stirring eggs in a pan; she has a slight smile on her face, because she's remembering how he woke her up...with soft strokes along her spine, and soft strokes between her legs. He'd been gentle, and tender, as he turned her towards him in the weak morning light; he'd moved his fingers over her face as he moved over her and within her. He never let go of her eyes. He'd swallowed her gasps and moans, his mouth moving hot and slow and deep over her own. He had coaxed her into an orgasm by whispering words like "lovely," and "sexy," and "mine" into her ear. He groaned her name against her neck as he came into her body. When he finally came back to her and to himself, he kissed her throat and whispered "Good morning" into her hair. He smiled when she wrapped her arms around him, tight, as if she never wanted to let him go.

The CD changer flips over to a new disk, pulling her out of her memory and back to the task at hand. She turns the eggs, puts down the spatula, and closes her eyes to float along with the opening notes of her favorite song. It is, she thinks, a very sexy song. She lets her head drop back, for a moment, eyes still closed, as she gets lost in the mood that this melody always pulls over her. 

So she doesn't see him come around the corner; she doesn't see him stop short; she doesn't see him at the moment when his heart leaps into his throat and eyes.

He takes her in, and just like that, he wants her all over again. He wants to bury his face in her tousled hair, he wants to pull the thin straps of her nightie over her shoulders, he wants to feel her clench around him and beneath him and above him again and again and again. He wants to get lost in her mood, too.

So he comes up behind her, nudging her with his hips as he fits his nose and mouth in along the curve of her neck and shoulder. And he goes hard when he sees and feels her smile.

And now he's not feeling so gentle, or tender. Now he's feeling naughty, and silly; he's feeling cocky, he's feeling happy, and now he's feeling free. So he traps her against the counter, runs his hands down her arms, and starts singing along, softly, into the skin of her shoulder.

She laughs, because she didn't realize that he knew the words to this, her favorite song. Apparently he'd been listening, all those nights when she played the disk at her desk, to keep herself company; to keep him on her mind. Not that she needed much help keeping him on her mind.

She keeps her eyes closed, and rests back against him, touched and amused by this playful side of him. He so rarely feels unburdened enough to allow it to come out. She presses her lips to his forehead as he kisses and sings his way down her jaw. He's teasing her with the first few words, and he wants to make her giggle again. _You've got your ball, you've got your chain tied to me tight; tie me up again..._ He's teasing, but he's also serious...she's got him; she's always had him, and she always will. There's no one he'd rather be tethered to. And she laughs, at first, at how goofy he's being...but then she senses the meaning behind the words he's whispering. And her smile fades into concentration, as she wonders what he'll do next, or how he'll sing the rest.

He gently gathers her hair in one hand, and moves his busy mouth over the back of her tingling neck; he smiles as he turns the tables, and asks her, knowingly, " _Who's got their claws in *you,* my friend?_    It's never just gone one way...he's always had *her,* too. She presses her bottom back against him, and hears him whisper-sing the only answer: _Into your heart *I'll* beat again._

Now he's brought one hand around to explore the skin of her breastbone, exposed above the v-shaped dip in the silk she's worn for him. He drags his fingertips across that expanse of her body as he buries his mouth and nose beneath her other ear. He tastes her there as he murmurs... _Sweet like candy to my soul, sweet you rock, and, sweet you roll..._

Now he reassures her, directly against her ear, with both hands caressing the sides of her ribs and breasts...that he's _lost for you...I'm so...*lost*...for you..._ And her heart pounds as she hears the desire in his voice. She pushes back into him again, and rewards him with a moan; he sucks her earlobe into his mouth, and gives it a tug with his teeth, and asks her to _crash...into me, yeah...baby...and I come into...you..._

Blindly, her eyes closed against the pleasure he's incited, she searches, fumbling, along the front of the stove for the dial.  *Screw the eggs,* she thinks, and he knows her so well, he can read her mind, and her sentiment makes him grin.

He brings her reaching hand back to their bodies, and he sings along, asking her to _touch your lips, just so I know..._   She hides a gasp behind her fingers, which tremble on her mouth. And he tells her, now, as he sings her the words, that she has no more secrets, she can't hide from him anymore. _In your eyes...love. It glows._   And the honesty, the truth that he can see when he looks in her eyes has freed him from hiding, too _. So I'm bare-boned and crazy...for you,_ he sings on a whisper, his breath tickling her ear, his voice soft, yet deep and full of emotion. He brings his palms up, gently, just skimming the undersides and fronts of her breasts, pulling a shudder from her as her head falls back along his shoulder. And he winds his fingers into hers, which are tightly gripping the counter, as he asks her to _crash...into me, yeah...baby...and I come into...you..._

_In a boy's dream..._ he continues, running his hands down to her hips, and rubbing himself slowly, in time, against the silk covering her rear. _In a boy's dream..._ She's better than the dreams, she's better than the fantasies.

And now he can't help himself, he's got to fill his hands with her, so he half-sings, half-moans his apologies as he quickens their pace, and pulls her back flush against his chest, his wide hands rubbing, caressing, searing her breasts... _Oh, if I've gone overboard...then_

_I'm begging you to forgive me in my haste...When I'm holding you so, girl...close...to me..._

He knows she doesn't mind the shift in their tempo, because now she brings strong hands to his hips; she grabs hold of the material of his boxers, and pulls him, hard, against her. She writhes against him, and moans, and begs...

_...Crash...into me..._

And with his mouth and hands he promises...

_...I'll come into you..._

And now he gets a wicked grin on his face as she starts panting, and wanting to turn in his arms to face him, to kiss him, to touch him. But he won't let her; he's got her trapped between his body and the counter and the circle of his arms. So he teases her, rubbing his erection up and down against the cleft of her rear; running his tongue down the curve of her neck, to her shoulder; pulling one strap down and freeing her right breast, stroking and pinching her nipple into an even harder point. He sweeps a hand low, across her abdomen, and from the whimper she lets out, he now knows that she wants to beg him to bury his fingers between her legs.

So he leans down, and runs one hand slowly, torturously, along the inside of one of her thighs, and demands, against her ear... _hike up your skirt a little more...and show the world to me..._

He lets out an involuntary "yeah," low, and hot, and full of lust, as she complies. She runs her fingers down the sides of her legs, and curls her fingers into the bottom edge of her silk slip. And he coaxes her on, his mouth devouring the skin below her ear, his hands roaming fast and free across her body now, as he whispers _hike up your skirt a little more...and show your world to me...in a boy's dream..._

And she barely gets the silk up over her thighs when he reaches down to help her...their hands curl into each other as they work in tandem to drag the thin material up and over her head. And now he turns her, fast, and plunges his tongue into her mouth, and loses his hands in her hair as she yanks his boxers down. He spins her around, and presses her up against the fridge, and in seconds, he has her leg up over his arm, and one hand on her backside, and he's buried himself in her...he's surrounded himself with the wetness he knew would be there, waiting for him...he's filled her, like he knew she wanted to be...and he's rewarded by the screams he's ripping from her throat, and the feel of her hands on his body, pulling him in deeper, harder, faster. 

They rock into each other as the song plays on. Instinctively, he opens his eyes to watch her reaction as his possessive fingers reach between them to rub over her clit. He gets harder with every stroke. And now he's too far gone to sing along, but he hears the words, hears and understands what the singer meant, when the singer saw his own woman, saw her wearing nothing, but wearing it so well...

And once again, she's tied up and twisted, the way she likes to be... _for you...for me...come crash into me, baby..._

And the song hits a crescendo just as they do, holding each other up, attached at their cores, their mouths, their hearts and minds, in the kitchen and home they've made all their own...bare-boned and crazy for each other, crashing and coming into each other's worlds and dreams.


End file.
